


If You Must Die

by ExpectoPatronum



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPatronum/pseuds/ExpectoPatronum
Summary: 'You have five minutes,' Strange’s voice rumbled through the dark, 'Use them as you will.'Peter almost expected to hear the ticking of a clock.Instead, he heard whispers.





	If You Must Die

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gorgeous song "You" by Keaton Henson
> 
> 'If you must die, sweetheart,  
> Die knowing your life was my life's best part.'

The snap had been undone on Peter’s birthday. He wondered if Tony had planned it like that. He wondered if Tony had even known.

How old was he now, technically speaking?

Did it even matter?

Bruce had said that the surviving Avengers had spent greater than a year assembling the new gauntlet. Carol Danvers had retrieved the Time Stone from her own timeline, and from that point, the sequence of events became unsettlingly fluid. Peter felt far older than seventeen, but also (in keeping with the incongruity of time lately) far younger.

He had rematerialized on Titan soil looking – he hoped – much more heroic than he’d looked when he'd left it. He’d even managed to stay on his feet as the others exploded back into existence around him, all of them looking weary, but overjoyed. The Guardians had thrown themselves into one another’s arms, Quill whooping and hollering for all he was worth.

Peter had wanted to join them – couldn’t _wait_ to join them. He had rubbed the blurriness from his eyes and craned his head in every direction, eager and expectant. Couldn’t imagine what could be taking him so long.

He hadn’t heard Strange come up behind him, hadn’t sensed his presence until the doctor’s hand had settled tentatively on his shoulder.

He’d known before Strange had spoken a word. Maybe he’d known the moment he’d opened his eyes to the sight of empty air and no one waiting to meet him. He must have known then, deep down, that nothing else could have kept Tony Stark away.

 

 ------------------------------

 

Doctor Strange had taken him home to his apartment in Queens through another of his magic portals, and it probably said a lot about his state of mind that he'd found the trick much less impressive this time around. Peter’s aunt had not overwhelmed him with the histrionic tears and overbearing hovering he’d expected – that was his first clue that Mr. Stark had planned this, had warned May in advance about what it would cost to undo the snap that had taken Peter away from her.

Sure enough, when she’d at last released him from her gentle embrace and cupped his face between her hands, she’d told him about the letter that sat waiting on the nightstand in his room.

“It’s – it’s what he wanted to tell you. I think he wanted to say goodbye. I haven’t read it – it’ll be there whenever you’re ready,” she had whispered, brushing the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs.

Peter hadn't told her that he would never be ready.

He found his room exactly as it had been on the morning of the field trip. He left the letter untouched, careful not to so much as look at it for very long, but retrieved his phone from its place on his desk. He felt a wave of shocked, almost hysterical laughter rise in him when he found that it was somehow, inexplicably, fully charged.

 _August 10 th, 2018_ glowed dimly on the screen.

“Happy Birthday, Peter,” Strange said from the doorway, and Peter started so violently that he dropped his phone. He hadn’t realized Strange had followed him up – hadn’t even noticed him at all once he’d seen May.

 “You – um – what are you still doing here?” Peter’s lips were numb. He was sure he’d never been this rude in his life, but the hollow sensation in his chest was growing with every second that passed, and he wanted desperately to be alone and unseen when it finally opened up and swallowed him down.

“I wanted to give you a present,” Strange answered.

Peter almost laughed again, because surely, _surely_ this wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to him lately, but it ranked somewhere near the top of the list. He turned his back to the man instead. He could feel his composure slipping.

“R-right. Um. Thanks. But –”

“It’s five minutes of time. I wish I could give you more, but I'm afraid even my power has its limitations. Use them as you will,” Strange said, and he sounded genuinely regretful.

Peter felt a flash of irritation cut through the fog in his mind. Hadn’t they had enough mystery and suspense to last a lifetime?

“What do you mean, five minutes of—?” He began, spinning to face the man.

Predictably, Strange was gone.

On Peter’s bed sat a strangely glowing wooden box, its surfaced engraved with symbols which Peter, by now, recognized to be alien.

Before the snap, Peter might have hesitated – he might have studied the box carefully and considered the danger to himself or others in meddling with alien tech. He might have remembered Toomes and his gang, and what had become of them. But that Peter had gone.

He made it to his bed in one stride. He opened the box.

 

\------------------------------

 

The room was suffused with the same warm, golden light that had emanated from beneath the box’s lid. It lingered in the air for a moment, and then dissolved.

Peter was alone in a dark woods, surrounded by what felt like thousands of overhanging branches strung with cobwebs. Ahead of him lay three paths, their destinations shrouded beneath the same branches that felt as though they were closing in on him on every side.

 _You have five minutes_ , Strange’s voice rumbled through the dark, _use them as you will._

He almost expected to hear the ticking of a clock.

Instead, he heard whispers.

To his right, far down at what must have been the end of the path closest to him, he could hear voices calling his name.

 _Come on, Petey, you can do it!_ A man’s voice cried, and was joined by a woman’s sweet cooing, _You can do it, baby, you’re so close!_

An ache of longing rose in his chest as realization dawned.

 _That’s it, Pete, walk to Daddy!_  His father’s voice laughed, and his mother was cheering him on, _He’s doing it! There you go! You’re walking, baby!_

Peter had taken a step toward the path without realizing he’d done it. They were there, just beyond the branches. If he carried on walking he would be able to see them, touch them, he was _sure_ he would.

To his left, the centermost path found its voice.

 _It’ll be all right, Peter. I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you,_ Uncle Ben whispered.

Peter faltered.

_I’m so proud of you. You’re a good boy. You’ll be a great man some day._

Had his uncle meant it? Peter could remember the words when they were first spoken – would Ben still be proud of what he’d become? He could ask him. He could apologize, finally, for what had happened. He moved instead to the center path, reaching out to part the branches that blocked his way.

_Underoos!_

Peter’s head snapped toward the farthest path to his left, and his heart leapt into his throat.

_I told you he was a good kid._

His throat was tight. The other two paths were behind him before he knew it. When had he begun moving? Behind him, he could hear the voices of his parents and uncle speaking words of love and encouragement.

Five minutes. He would not have time to double back and choose another path.

_Pete, you gotta let go. I’m gonna catch you._

He was running now, stumbling down the farthest path as fast as his legs could carry him. The branches all around the trail seemed to reach after him like the ghostly arms of the loved ones he hadn’t chosen to pursue, and it should have hurt, but it felt instead as though they were pushing him along…

_You’re alright._

The darkness was fading – was he running out of time? Was the path becoming clearer? He couldn’t see through the tears, could only run –

_You're alright._

He crashed hard.

“You’re alright.”

The forest was gone, and Mr. Stark’s arms were steadying him.

“Oh god – Mr. Stark – Tony – sir, I’m so –”

But Tony’s arms wrapped around him, and they were not disfigured by the gauntlet he had wielded. The chest beneath his cheek was warm and unmarred by the scars of the arc reactor or shrapnel. Even the voice that spoke against his ear sounded less careworn than the memory that had called to him in the woods.

“It’s alright. I know. It's all okay, Pete.”

Peter wanted to believe him. He wanted to remain here forever, safe in arms of the man who had been his hero for as long as he could remember. But there wasn’t time.

He pulled away reluctantly, blinking the tears from his eyes, and gazed up at Tony. Just as he’d suspected, his mentor looked younger than he could ever remember seeing him; the lines around his eyes had disappeared, and his expression was sad, but gentle.

“Pete – listen – we don’t have long,” Tony murmured, and his hand cupped the side of Peter’s head, warm and whole and so _alive._ “There’s things I need to tell you. Most of it's in the letter, but –”

“I haven’t read it,” Peter stumbled to explain, “I’m – I’m sorry, I couldn’t –”

“Easy, kid. No more apologies. Not to me.” Tony’s voice was firm, but the hand that rubbed soothingly against his shoulder was anything but.

“I – okay. I just – I just wanted to tell you – how much –” Peter tried desperately to find the words, but his tongue was tied by emotion and exhaustion.  Five minutes only, and he was wasting them on tears. He should have waited _, why_ hadn’t he waited until he was prepared?

Tony pulled Peter back against his chest and he nestled his head against the man’s collarbone, desperately, stupidly grateful.

“I know, Pete,” Tony’s voice rumbled in his chest. “I know, kid. Some day – a long, long ways down the road, if you know what’s good for you – you’ll have all the time in the world to tell me everything. But you’ve got a ways to go before you can catch up to my eloquence, so I’ll go first.”

Peter stifled a laugh in Tony’s chest, though it sounded closer to a sob. He nodded.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye the way I wanted to, Pete. I’m sorry I ever lost you to begin with. It all went to hell – although, spoiler alert, message from beyond the grave, there’s no hell for the secular contingent or I’d _definitely_ have made the list – but it all went sideways, and we did what we had to do. I did what I _wanted_ to do. And it was worth it. You were worth it. Okay?”

Peter didn’t answer. Tony pulled back far enough to set his hand beneath Peter’s chin and ease it upward until their eyes met.

“I don’t regret it. Not even for a second. But kid – if I could have stayed, I would have stayed for you. I knew what I was doing, and it was worth it. But I need to know you’ll be alright.”

Peter wanted to tell him that he _wouldn’t_ be alright. He wanted to be selfish, to demand that Tony find a way back to him, to tell him he couldn’t stand to lose another father.

For a moment, he thought Tony must have seen a flicker of it reflected in his eyes.

“I’ll be alright,” he promised.

The fear in Tony’s eyes was replaced with something that might have been pride. Peter thought it might even have been a promise worth keeping.

Around him, the light was beginning to dim, and Tony’s arms drew him into a final crushing embrace. Peter wrapped his own arms around the man’s back, clinging so fiercely he might have left bruises. He felt his mentor’s lips brush his temple, and suddenly he was crying all over again, the tears hot in his eyes and his throat as he tried desperately to find the words.

“I’ll – I’ll miss you – God, I’ll miss you so much – thank you for everything you did, for – and I – I  l-love y-you – I’ll be a-alright, I promise –” he managed to choke out, clenching his eyes shut against the fading light.

“Read the letter, Pete. You’ll be alright. I love you. You’ll be alright.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

It was all going dark.

“You’re alright.”

He was holding empty air.

_You’re alright._

Everything faded to black.

 

\------------------------------

 

When Peter came to, the digital clock on his phone informed him that his birthday was well and truly over. The change in the bright city lights through his window told him it was almost morning.

The box on his bed had gone.

It hadn’t been enough.

He needed to find Strange. He could ask him for another chance, another box. He would be ready next time. He would find the words to tell Tony everything he’d meant to tell him. And then he’d find the words for Ben, and for his parents. Maybe the man hadn’t gone far – if he suited up now, he might still catch him –

Peter stumbled from the bed and crashed into his nightstand in his haste to reach his suit. The stand swayed precariously on one leg and he fumbled for the lamp, steadying it just in time. As the light flickered in the dark room, Tony’s letter fluttered to the floor at his feet.

The familiar handwriting was like a siren call.

He read the first line.

He wasn’t ready.

He lifted the letter with shaking hands and began to read it anyway.

 

_Hey Pete,_

_If you’re reading this, it means we won. And if Danvers is right, it also means Iron Man has taken his last bow. Joined the invisible choir. Bought the farm. Kicked the bucket(head.) You get the picture._

_But it also means you’re alive._

_I mean, you and the other 3.2 billion souls the Grape of Wrath snuffed out. But mostly you._

_Listen kid, I know I talk a big game about avenging the earth – and I know I’m writing you this letter while on a mission to avenge_ you _– but I’m starting to think you were on to something when you turned down my offer the first time. When you spend all your time trying to avenge people, you miss out on a lot of things. And that might be alright for some people. But it’s not alright for you. You deserve better._

_Whatever happens, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t spend it chasing ghosts. Wherever I end up, I’ll always be behind you._

_The team will look out for you. I made Cap swear on his Scout’s Honor, and that’s about as close as the guy gets to a pagan blood oath. If you ever need anything, call on them. They’re the greatest friends you’ll ever have. They were for me, anyway._

_I hope I’m here to tell you this in person, but just in case –_

_You’re the best of all of us, Spider-Man. I’m so proud of you, kid. You’re gonna be great._

_I love you, Pete._

_Always,_

_Tony_

For a while, Peter sat on the foot of his bed and waited for the weight of his grief to overwhelm him. Instead, he felt oddly at peace, the way he’d sometimes felt as a kid when he’d cried in Ben’s arms until his uncle’s gentle rocking had lulled him to sleep. His eyes were wet, and the letter still shook slightly in his hands, but the urgency he’d felt to track Strange down and demand another five minutes had passed.

He set the letter back down on his nightstand and switched off his lamp, allowing the fading dark of the early morning to fill the room.

As he eased himself back onto his pillow, a creak in the hall told him May was standing in the doorway.

“Hey, sweetie. You okay?” Her voice was tentative. Worried.

Peter took a shaky breath in and let it out.

“I’ll be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Strange's gift to Peter is taken from Amazing Spider-Man #500, although I've taken ridiculous artistic liberties with what transpires after the box is opened.
> 
> I don't even know, you guys. This is so far from my usual fluff fic. I'm blaming Keaton Henson. I hope you enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
